Change
by corneroffandom
Summary: Ricardo Rodriguez goes missing. What Alberto finds when he begins to search for him is unexpected.


A/N: This story's been worked on off and on for nearly a year, so I'm not sure about it, but it's done so here we go...

The room is dark. Quiet. His voice is muffled, a rough cloth wrapped around his jaw and stuffed between his lips, keeping him from crying out at full volume as the fabric makes his mouth dry out horribly until it _hurts_ to try anything louder than a whimper. He can barely see anything to even try to guess where he's at, and he's too scared to move. He doesn't remember how he'd come to be in this place to begin with, and that terrifies him more than anything.

He knows, however, that he's not alone as footsteps approach where he's slumped over, rough hands gripping his chin and pulling him up to stare into dark eyes. "Ricardo, Ricardo, Ricardo," the voice practically purrs, somehow sounding amused.

"Who are you?" he mumbles through the cloth, coughing afterwards at just how _dry_ his mouth is, each forced word making his throat tickle even more, adding to his distress.

No answer comes and he whimpers as what little light in the room disappears when a door is closed tightly, his whole body trembling as he peers through the darkness, completely alone once more. "No, no... please..."

He's not sure how much time has passed before the door is opened again, the light outside bright enough to hurt his eyes and make him flinch away. "Who's there?" he sniffs, trying to scramble away as the door is shut once more, leaving him alone in the dark with who knows what awaiting him. "Please help me..."

His only answer a soft laugh, he chokes out a gasp through the gag as the soft scrape of something- a chair, perhaps- is pushed towards him. "Sorry, kid, it's a little late for that," the voice from before speaks up from the confines of the darkness, only quadrupling his horror.

"El Patron..." he mumbles helplessly as he's forced up from where he's sitting down, dragged elsewhere in the darkness.

Alberto Del Rio thinks he's about to lose his mind. He'd sent Ricardo out for coffee almost two hours ago and hadn't seen him since. Which, needless to say, isn't like his ring announcer _at all._ Ricardo is nothing but prompt and almost obsessed with making Del Rio happy, so this makes no sense. He wonders if the younger man'd gotten himself into some sort of trouble, which is another unfortunate habit of his. Tangling his fingers in the shirt of the nearest tech, he pulls him closer and stares deep into his eyes. "Do you know where Ricardo Rodriguez is?"

Already trembling in fear, the man shakes his head. "N-no!"

Disgusted, the Mexican aristocrat releases him roughly and storms off, stewing. _Someone _has to have seen Ricardo, he has no doubt about that. It's hard to miss him, considering he's the only one in the whole building wearing a tux at all times, but it's as though he's disappeared completely. Underneath all of Alberto's anger and distrust lies a very deep, very real worry that something had happened to the younger man, that all of these _perros_ are merely covering it up. It's no secret that neither man are very popular around here... and he's never cared in the past. But now... well, now he does, since it seems to be keeping him from finding out the truth.

"Where are you, Ricardo?" he mumbles, sighing in exasperation. Unfortunately the show is ending, they're going to have to leave soon, but the very thought of going without knowing where he's at, who has him, leaves Del Rio feeling ill. "I can't... I have to find him," he mumbles repeatedly, ignoring the strange glances he's receiving as he storms through the arena. "Ricardo, come on!"

He searches the building top to bottom, even examines the basement with no amount of distaste, until finally security for the arena corners him and tells him pointblank that the arena is closing shortly and he'll have to leave. He sneers at them until they threaten to call the police, should he not comply, and he reluctantly agrees. A quick stop to get his bags- heart sinking when he finds Ricardo's sitting nearby, abandoned- and he storms out to the parking garage where his car awaits him. He sinks down into the leather seats and glowers up at the building where he'd last seen Ricardo at only a few hours earlier. "This isn't over," he grumbles. "No matter what, I will find him."

He's just made it back to his hotel room when his cell phone rings. He flinches and picks it up, looking at the screen. _Unknown number._ He shakes his head, heart sinking as the hope that it'd be Ricardo fades away yet again. Even so, something causes him to answer it, perhaps the blanket of silence that's subtly eating away at him, or the mocking visual of the empty bed across from him that would ordinarily be where Ricardo would be sitting at this moment, poring over older wrestling matches or rolling his eyes at things said on Twitter. "What?" he snaps.

"It's Tommy Dreamer."

Earlier in the evening, Alberto'd been in a six man tag match with Dreamer and the Miz against 3MB, but afterwards there'd been reports of The Shield attacking Tommy, leaving him laying. He sighs, closing his eyes. "Oh." His tone slightly more subdued, he digs a thumb into his forehead. "What is it?"

"Your ring announcer- Ricardo, right?"

His mouth goes dry. "What about him?"

"The Shield attacked him. He ran in while they were attacking me, and I think- well, I was pretty out of it, but the referees who came to help me told me that they didn't see him anywhere nearby."

Del Rio stares blankly ahead for a few moments before cursing vehemently in Spanish.

By Friday, he's made no further advances in figuring out where Ricardo could've been taken or anything else. He's questioned, threatened, even tried bribing people. No one seems to know anything. The sick knot in his stomach seems to grow hourly as he faces the looming event without his ring announcer, ignoring all of the rumors and questions from curious, nosy rivals of his just looking for an opportunity, any kind of weakness they can use against him.

He prepares for his match quickly and, with precious little time to spare, storms once more through the back, grabbing the first person he sees, not even caring if it makes sense for them to know anything. Jinder Mahal. "Where is mi mejor amigo?! What do you know?"

Rough Punjab spat back at him, Jinder struggles to free himself until the other two members of 3MB rush up, getting in Alberto's face for roughhandling their fellow bandmate. He sneers and releases the man with a rough push before looking at all three of them, their complaints coming to a dead halt at the ruthless, dark look in his eyes. "If I find out any of you had anything to do with Ricardo being taken, or knew about it and didn't tell me, you'll wish the only thing you had to worry about was your lack of musical talent."

"Hey-!" they yell at his back, but he's already stormed down the hall, looking for someone else to demand answers from.

The hallways are empty, almost suspiciously so, but he continues on, determined to continue his so far fruitless investigation. "Hang on, Ricardo. I _will_ find you," he vows. "No matter what."

His match that night does not go well. His anger works against him and he loses decidedly to Sin Cara, the Mexican luchador watching him from the ramp before he turns and leaves, letting his off-again, on-again rival just stewing over what might be lurking behind his mask. _Perhaps he knows where the Shield has Ricardo... but that doesn't entirely make sense..._

_Not that a lot does right now. Anything's possible, I can't overlook anything or anyone. Any one of these perros could be involved or know something, and gleefully keep it from me..._ He grimaces as he glances sideways at every person he walks by on his way back to his empty, quiet locker room, aware that his paranoia is getting the best of him but needing something to focus on to quell the silence eating away at him. "Now to figure out who, though." Pulling out a piece of paper, he begins making notes of the roster and underlining those who he thinks may have it out for them enough to keep any information from him. Which is a distressingly large number, when he's finished. "Ay."

Trying to make it even a little bit easier on himself, he then tries numbering them based on how badly he thinks they might hate both him and Ricardo. _There has to be a simpler way for me to figure out who to question first..._

Orton would be a likely guess, as they'd been feuding somewhat through the months, or Sheamus, but it'd be unwise to ignore the least likely suspects, or someone overlooked. Hidden in the shadows. That turns his attention once more to Sin Cara, but he can't see why or how the masked man would involve himself with The Shield, since he'd been targeted by them in the past as well.

Then there are people like CM Punk or Big Show or many other people who he's had issues with in the past, who could've held a grudge enough to look the other way if they'd seen or heard anything. You could ask anyone and they'd tell you such things in this business can be odd, sneaky things that pop up years after you think they'd been dealt with or forgotten. After all, Punk had attacked Orton in 2011 because he'd taken him out in 2009. Opportunities in this business can be few and far in between, and you take them as you can get them or you wait and stew and let it simmer until you want to explode and can't wait any longer. It's this option that worries him the most.

Newcomers are also possible, such as Big E. Langston or Ryback, not caring enough or only interested in what will be beneficial to them in making names for themselves, no matter who gets caught in the crossfire. The thought of Ricardo being overlooked due to something like that eats at him, makes him feel even worse.

He sighs heavily and puts the list aside, knowing he won't get too far with just that. "I will find you, Ricardo," he murmurs. "I just need to think... the answer has to be there _somewhere..._"

In the end, he really doesn't need to look that far. The answer comes to him the following week, when he's wrestling on Raw. He's about to win with another of his armbars, taking out all of his anger and frustrations on his opponent- Titus O'Neil- when an unrecognizable form slips into the ring. The person is visibly male and has on red wrestling gear that covers most of his body, a red and silver mask hiding his face from view. A flowing jacket going from his shoulders down to his knees cover the rest of him and all Alberto can think is, _Something about him is familiar..._ but before he can put his finger on it, the man is upon him, attacking him brutally. He can barely get an inch separation between them before the unknown man lands more blows and kicks on him, leaving him struggling just to catch his breath, try to defend himself.

Worse than that, the man seems to be muttering something between each strike, but Alberto is in so much pain, he can't understand a word of it, just struggling to defend himself against the non-stop volley. It finally stops as quickly as it'd began and the mysterious man disappears back into the stunned crowd, leaving Del Rio writhing against the mat as a referee tries to tend to him, each touch from the man like agony upon his brutalized body. He finally gets the strength together to push the older man away and cling to the ropes, trying to make his way to his feet as he gapes around for whoever had so ruthlessly attacked him, but sees nothing even close to resembling the masked man's attire in the crowd.

Giving up on this, he stumbles back up the ramp, eyes squinting in pain with each step. _Ricardo, I wish you were here,_ he finds himself thinking, though deep inside he's relieved that the younger man _hadn't_ been, so he couldn't be targeted by the odd masked man as well. He ignores the trainer's attempts at getting him to return to his office for an exam and slips into his car after painfully pulling on his street clothes, wanting nothing more than to go back to the hotel room and sleep for hours. Although being able to do just that has been nearly impossible since Ricardo's disappearance, the silence too horrible and all encompassing as he lays in bed and stares helplessly at the ceiling.

After spending a few, dreadful days recuperating at his hotel, only moving for food and other necessities, Alberto heads for Smackdown and waits outside of Booker T's office to discuss plans for him that evening, his match, and what had happened on Raw. He's distracted, wondering what exactly will happen _this_ evening as rarely felt nervousness pumps through his veins, leaving him pacing back and forth. _Is this how Ricardo feels so often, why he's always so fretful? And I would always get so annoyed at him for it..._ He sighs, feeling even worse at the realization. _Ay, amigo, lo siento. When I see you next, I will tell you so. I promise._

He's still waiting when he hears footsteps behind him and, turning slowly, sees a flash of red. His breath catching in his throat as he recognizes it, he stares at the man as he approaches, very quiet. Very stealthy. He tries to make the first move but it's like the attacker knows him better than he knows himself, dodging his attempted punch and then the follow-up, just to slash up with a fist of his own that connects with Del Rio's jaw and sends him staggering back, until a vicious kick catches him in the abdomen and knocks him to a knee, winded. "Who are you?" he just manages to choke out before a boot to his skull lands and he falls to the floor, his vision fading. As the red form stands over him, grinding his boot into his waist, the murmurs that he'd heard before begin once more but he's yet again too out of it to place them.

He's still laying there, struggling to move, long after the person has once more disappeared, just for Booker's office door to slip open. As he overhears, "Ok, Del Rio, what do you- holy hell!" he shuts his eyes and scrapes his fingers against the cold tile floors, desperate not to give into the overwhelming pain as the general manager touches his bruised shoulder and tries to shift him onto his back. "Trainer! I need a trainer over here, right now!"

The two days between Smackdown and Raw isn't enough recovery time for him, by far, but Alberto ignores the trainer's recommendations and refuses seeing a doctor, forcing himself to the arena that Monday anyway, despite how weary he is and how much pain each step causes him. Vickie, however, is a shrewd businesswoman and refuses to do anything that could possibly put her in danger with the board, so she refuses to allow him to compete without clearance from a doctor, and he sneers at her as he leaves the office. He thinks they probably intend for him to give up and go back to the hotel, rest for awhile, but that's the furthest thing from his mind. He's in pain, physically and emotionally, and he's out for some payback. "Ricardo," he murmurs to thin air. His search for the ring announcer had gone nowhere for the past two weeks, and now he has this red attired person constantly attacking him, making the search even harder to focus on. "If I fix one problem, perhaps I will be closer to resolving the other."

Unwelcome in the arena, he sits outside in the parking lot, undisturbed by the harsh winter weather, a steel chair in hand as he waits and watches for anyone who could possibly pass for the person who'd attacked him twice now. _Good things come to those who wait,_ he sneers, glancing around once more. It's still quiet, maybe too quiet, and he really just wants to have answers to _something_ by now.

To his shame, he's caught by surprise barely ten minutes later when vaguely audible footsteps approach him from behind and he spins around, his body reminding himself of the torture it'd been put through barely two days earlier not to mention the Monday prior, his legs almost buckling just as he catches sight of the red figure peering cruelly at him from the shadows. "_You_," he hisses, trying to maintain control of his body.

Tilting his head, Alberto's attacker approaches him with a dark twist to his lips as he barely seems to care about the chair that's between them, clenching and releasing his fist repeatedly. As he nears, Del Rio holds the weapon up but the masked man barely glances at it before he rushes after him, ducking aside so that the chair sweeps meaninglessly through thin air, Alberto's forward motion sending him stumbling past his attacker, leaving his back open to attack, causing him further pain as those fists slam into his already sore ribcage, winding him. He loses track of the chair, only hearing it clatter to the ground a few minutes later when he's kicked roughly in the side of the head- the movement somehow familiar, somehow-

He only just manages to peer into the other man's eyes, not even completely aware of what the latest attack against him had been, just that it ends with him landing roughly against the cold steel chair resting against the concrete, everything going dark. When he comes to, everything is a fresh wave of agony and Memo is standing over him, a worried look on his face. He stares up at him for a long, pensive moment, almost mistaking him for Ricardo briefly until he begins to talk and Alberto realizes with a horrified rush of clarity that it's his brother, and Ricardo is still lost.

"Hermano," Memo whispers, steadying him when he tries to sit up and fails. "Relax, you were attacked. It-"

He does freeze then, his eyes closing as pieces of the puzzle finally return to him. He remembers- those eyes hidden behind that mask. Despite how dull, almost _lifeless_ they'd been, he could never _not_ recognize them. "It was Ricardo."

He arrives at Smackdown with a purpose that Friday, his lips set in a determined, grim line. With only a few days to rest and regain some of his strength since the third attack, he still feels like he could fall apart at any moment but Memo is there, ordered to keep an eye on him by their father and he has no doubt that his brother will assist him in his plans to get Ricardo back, come hell or high water. "These are for you," he tells the younger man before they get out of the car, handing over a pair of brass knucks to him. Not fancy in the slightest, they're as rugged and low-class as one can get... which means they're perfect for this situation. Easy to hide, unlike the steel chair, and a little more difficult to be turned against the person wearing them. "Only use them if you absolutely have to." He definitely doesn't want to see Ricardo hurt further, but he wants him back more than anything and if the only way to ensure that is to use these, then that's what will need to be done.

Memo nods hesitantly, peering down at the glinting weapons in his grip. "Si. Hermano?" Alberto pauses while exiting the car, turning back to look at his brother. "Be careful."

His face softens for a moment. "You as well, hermanito."

Booker has picked up Vickie's mantel here, refusing to allow him to compete while he's still injured from the past few weeks of attacks, the trainer worried of cracked ribs and potential concussions and who knows what else, which is fine with Del Rio because it gives him the time he needs to keep an eye out for Ricardo, set his plan into motion. Doing everything to keep himself in somewhat secluded, open areas, he wanders around the quiet parts of the building, listening distantly to the action of Smackdown echoing through the thick walls. He misses competing, the rush of the crowd's response, but he misses his best friend more, and this keeps him steady as he walks along, his senses sharp as he waits for some sign of the red masked individual.

Memo is nearby, he knows, keeping his distance so as not to scare off Ricardo but close enough that he can hear if Alberto should need him at any time. He's just walked out to the parking garage, his back to the arena door, when he hears it. Faint footsteps and soft breathing, that familiar buzz of faint murmuring that he still can't fully understand. He takes a soft breath of his own before turning slowly to face the red-cloaked individual. "Well, well," he says lowly, standing his ground with a pinched look on his face. "Chose to show your face finally." They stand and stare at each for long, painful moments, when Alberto says one more, poignant word. "Ricardo."

There's no visible reaction from the person, but the murmurs somehow become frantic, all the more insensible. Del Rio still can't place the words, but it doesn't matter as his focus is quickly diverted, his ring announcer dashing forward with a sharp yell, fist aimed right at his skull. He ducks and grabs the younger man by the waist, holding him tightly until they're eye to eye. All doubt he'd had from the last time he'd been this close fades away- there's just no doubt that he's definitely looking his best friend in the face for the first time in weeks. But the overwhelming feelings he has at this realization works against him as Ricardo lunges back and hits him with a harsh headbutt, sending him reeling back a step. "It's ok," he tells him, bracing himself. "I'm here, Ricardo. I'll... I'll fix this, I promise."

There's no hesitation, no recognition in the eyes just visible in the cut outs of the mask, pure unawareness leading the man to rush forward once more and try to kick Alberto in the skull yet again- and it's there that Del Rio realizes even while half out of his mind with whatever The Shield had done to him in the weeks he'd been missing, he'd automatically borrowed Alberto's kicks, re-enforcing that some of _Ricardo_ remained in the mindless being before him who keeps trying to attack him. The rough brass of the knucks on his own hand feeling heavy, he waits and watches for an opportunity, shaking his head as Ricardo's faint murmurs continue to fill the dark night around them. "What did they do to you, mi amigo?" he asks, dodging another of the ring announcer's attempted kicks.

Time suddenly slows as something seems to click with the younger man, his rough, automatic movements coming to a stop while he's still close to Alberto. The Mexican aristocrat swallows, realizing that his words are somehow clearer now- audible and heartbreaking as Del Rio closes his eyes, absorbing what Ricardo is repeating over and over again, had probably been the last few times he'd attacked as well. _Mi amigo,_ he sighs, choked with emotion.

"Stop it, stop, I don't want to hurt him- no... por favor..." Ricardo's faint voice continues on underneath the mask, trembling and desperate as he says the same things over and over again, Alberto knowing that this can't go on. It's a mercy to both of them when he lifts his fist and stares Ricardo in the eye. A solid, careful hit with just enough force to the jaw, and Ricardo sinks to his knees, wavering on the brink of unconsciousness when Del Rio kneels next to him, supports him. The murmurs have ceased finally, and Alberto grips his mask, pulling it off carefully. His dazed eyes are only open a sliver and, outside of a bruise already forming from the knucks, he looks like himself.

"I've got you, amigo," he sighs, running his fingers through Ricardo's soft hair. "I'm so sorry. So sorry." He looks up as Memo approaches them, phone in hand. "Call 911, Hermano. I think he's ok physically but it seems like they... brainwashed him, so he'll... he'll need... psychiatric help, perhaps." It's a sobering thought, to get him back just to have to hand over his care to another outside party, but this is beyond him. His only comfort is that his money and influence will determine his best friend get the best possible care. As his brother handles the call to dispatch, he just sits on the ground and looks Ricardo over, shaking his head. "It's going to be ok, Ricardo. I promise."

Ambulance sirens are just becoming audible when Ricardo stirs in Alberto's arms, his fingers tensing against the soft tassels of his scarf. Alberto worries for a moment but the younger man seems to have lost all determination to fight, his eyes glassy and unfocused as the horrible murmurs resume, pleading and desperate to not force him to hurt his employer. "Help is here, Ricardo. You're going to be fine, mi amigo." To his relief, when the EMTs begin examining him, they quickly deduce that outside of the bruise on his jaw, Alberto is right- he's not physically harmed, but his mental state is definitely in question. "What do we do then?"

"You're his employer?" At Del Rio's nod, the emergency workers exchange glances. "Well, we can hold him for a 72 hour psychiatric evaluation, take it from there depending on what he needs for care."

As Ricardo's distressed murmurs continue, the younger man still not responding to any questions asked to him, Alberto knows the answer to what he's about to ask, but needs it verified nonetheless. "What would you do?"

"Based on what I'm seeing here, now, I'd have him admitted," he finally says after watching Ricardo for a few more moments. "What do you want to do, sir?"

Alberto closes his eyes, shaking his head. "Will I be able to see him?"

"After we get him settled, and begin the process, yes there are visiting hours. You'll have to call the psych floor and ask when, however."

Del Rio _hates_ every part of that, leaving Ricardo to suffer alone through whatever he's going through for any amount of time, but he also knows he can't leave the younger man to continue suffering like this and so he rests a hand on the ring announcer's wrist, squeezing gently before hesitantly pulling away. "Fine. Please help him."

"Yes sir, we will." The EMTs call it in, explaining what's going on, before they begin to prepare Ricardo for transport, and the longer Alberto stands alongside his brother, watches his ring announcer and sees no flicker of recognition or emotion in the younger man, the surer he becomes in his decision, no matter how being separated from Ricardo even longer makes him feel.

Even so, he turns to his brother, eyes dark and deep with a need to be reassured about his decision. "Guillermo, did I... do the right thing?" he asks lowly, unable to watch as the ambulance leaves, taking the emotionally broken Ricardo with it.

Memo nods rapidly, wrapping an arm around his brother. "Si, Hermano, you did. Don't doubt that. They will help him, and you'll get to see him soon and you'll see. Everything will return to normal."

He sighs, this outcome being one of the many he'd never foreseen when he'd envisioned finding Ricardo. His only comfort is that at least he knows where the ring announcer is, and that he's safe and secure, not held somewhere suffering cold and hungry or in pain.

Even so, the time that passes feel like torture, even Raw not distracting him as he has some nothing match against Damien Sandow. He knows the Shield is around somewhere, but until he knows what's going on with Ricardo, he doesn't have the focus to go after them, also not wanting to risk injury while his ring announcer needs him. Once he leaves the arena, he bypasses the hotel and heads straight for the airport to wait for the next flight out to the city containing the hospital he'd had little choice but to leave his friend in while he went off to fulfill his responsibilities to WWE, knowing that Ricardo wouldn't want him to risk his career while unable to do anything for him anyway.

Luckily there's a red eye in about three hours and he books it, breathing a little easier once he's got the ticket in hand, and goes to sit down and wait, his foot tapping impatiently against the cool tile. His arrival should coincide with the evaluation period concluding so as soon as he arrives, he should be allowed to see the younger man, to his ultimate relief. "I'm almost there, Ricardo," he murmurs. As soon as he makes sure his mejor amigo is getting better and is strong enough to even consider such things, he'll be happy to bring him home where he can hopefully receive outpatient care from a reputable therapist in Florida and from there... The Shield... A dark look on his face, he stares at his fingers and remembers how the brass knucks had felt against his skin, cold and promising bad things. _Those would be too good for them,_ he thinks viciously.

When his flight is announced, he forces himself to relax, his expression becoming painfully stoic. The last thing he needs is further trouble getting onto the plane, he needs the proceeding trip to go smoothly, lest he truly lose his temper and let loose everything that's been brimming since Ricardo went missing. He goes through the motions for the TSA agents, handing over his ticket, following a line of people onto the plane, locating his seat, all of it, then finds himself facing hours upon hours of waiting for the plane to land, more time to actually drive to the mental hospital he had yet to even lay eyes on. The time goes by slowly and in a blink of an eye all at once, his thoughts dominated by worry and uncertainty of what he'll find waiting for him there.

Finally he finds himself outside of the simple, brick building that had boasted to be one of the best in the nation, highly recommended by every specialist he'd contacted. It doesn't inspire much confidence but he takes a breath and heads inside, his tension somewhat eased when he's immediately welcomed by a plaque boasting the hospital's varied accomplishments, its different awards and achievements. It's a calm interior that he finds himself standing within, no desperate screaming or pained crying to greet him, and the woman at the front desk looks brisk and confident as she greets him. "Hello, sir. How may I help you?"

"I'm here to see Ricardo Rodriguez, I was told he should be allowed visitors soon?" he asks, vaguely tapping against the desktop as she checks her monitor for information.

She finally nods and looks up with a small smile. "Yes, that's right. Follow me, he's currently in the common room." As she leads him down various hallways, one just as impeccable and cheerful as the last, he grows more comfortable in the place that he'd had little choice but to leave his best friend for the last few days.

He's still not sure what to expect but the very first glance he gets of his friend through the small window in the door leading to what she'd called the common room wipes it all away- Ricardo is in there, sitting just feet away at a table, and it takes everything in Alberto not to rush inside and grab him, bring him home right then and there. But he knows that that's the worst thing he could do, due to the evaluation period just now over and his lack of knowledge of what the doctor had deduced. He will work all of that out _after_ he sees his best friend. She nods encouragingly when he glances over at her and steps away from the door as he slowly enters the room, taking a deep breath. It's quiet and somehow stifling inside as Del Rio struggles to breathe, suddenly overwhelmed. He's not sure what to expect, unable to get the vision of his ring announcer the last time he'd seen him out of his mind, when he'd been so lost and frightened, the only sign any of _Ricardo_ remaining being the broken little murmurs that had haunted Alberto since. Even so, he works through it and walks over to the table, watching quietly as Ricardo picks at a playing card, staring listlessly at the solitaire game sprawled across the wooden surface. Alberto watches for a moment before kneeling down next to him and struggling with all in him to not reach out and touch his friend, risk frightening him. "Red queen onto the black king, mi amigo," he finally says, unable to stop himself from assisting him even that small amount.

Ricardo blinks slowly, examining the table before him, before noticing what was being pointed out to him, and places the cards where they belong, slowly starting a chain of moves that start to clear the field. Once all four suits were all up top, nothing left for Ricardo to do, he swallows and closes his eyes. "El Patron." He turns slowly and looks at the man patiently kneeling by his seat and sniffs. "You're here." His face is pale and his eyes are listless and dull, medicine still strong in his system holding the Shield-inspired delusions at bay. Even so, his lips tremble and his eyes fill with tears. "You shouldn't be here, it's- it's not safe. You need to go," he insists.

Alberto feels a little choked up too as he peers at his miserable friend and he shakes his head vehemently, resting his hand on Ricardo's trembling fingers. "No, no, mi amigo. I'm safe. You're safe." Free hand resting on the side of Ricardo's face, he tries to smile. "I promise you. Everything's fine." When his ring announcer shakes his head, sniffing slightly, Alberto takes a breath and works at catching his eye. "Why not, amigo? What's wrong? Hmm?"

Ricardo's lips tremble harder as he stares at him, the tears pouring down his cheeks. "I- I still hear their voices in my head. I don't want to listen to them anymore, El Patron." He reaches up gingerly, as if not trusting himself, and rests his hand on top of Alberto's. "Make it stop? Por favor?"

Alberto's heart breaks for the younger man as he struggles to speak through a wave of emotions, his eyes glistening. "Oh, amigo, amigo. I'm so sorry, if I could, I would." He squeezes his fingers and releases a painful breath. "You need to be patient, hm? I know how good you are at that- just give it some time, I promise this place will help you. I've researched, it's one of the best psychiatric clinics in the country. They'll be able to assist you to move past what those monsters have done, I swear to you."

Nodding, the ring announcer searches his face as his lips tremble, a hand pulling free and coming to rest on Alberto's cheek. "I ... did that to you, didn't I?" he whispers, examining the discoloration just visible on his skin in this lighting, most of his bruising now faded. "Ay dios mio, I'm so sorry."

"No, no, it's- none of this is your fault, Ricardo." He lifts the younger man's other hand so they can both see it, smiling faintly as Ricardo stares at his own palm with no limit of discomfort. "No guilt lie in these hands, alright? This is The Shield's fault, definitely not yours and I will make them pay for all they put you through, physically and emotionally. I promise, mi amigo."

His face crumples slightly as he sniffs, gripping Alberto's hand desperately. "I don't... I don't want them to hurt you, El Patron- por favor, don't-"

"No, no, mi amigo, they won't touch me!" he exclaims, eyes dark with pain at his friend's continued emotional suffering. "Relax, everything will be fine, I promise. They may think they have justice on their side, but they don't know the meaning of the word. I will define it for them, on your behalf."

He sobs quietly, shaking his head against his claims, but tries to calm down when Del Rio whispers soothingly to him, not wanting the staff to drag Alberto away for upsetting him. "El Patron, what if they- they hurt you, and I'm not there, or no one will help, and-"

Alberto shakes his head, heart hurting at the misery in his friend's gaze. "Ricardo, Ricardo. Would it help if I promise not to do anything risky while you're in here? Hmm? Is that any better?" He cups the younger man's face as he nods hesitantly, staring him in the eyes. "Then I promise. I will wait, until you're back by my side. Until everything is back to normal for us both."

He sniffs, nods again. "Gracias, El Patron. Gr- gracias." Alberto smiles at him, the moment ruined shortly thereafter when a nurse steps up to them, a signal that the period of time Del Rio's been granted to visit him has passed. Ricardo's face falls as Alberto stands up, watching him prepare to leave painfully.

"It's ok, mi amigo, it's ok. I'll be back as soon as I can, si?" He pats his face gently. "Stay strong, we'll talk soon."

"I will," he murmurs, staring on with wide, wet eyes as his employer smiles sadly down at him before collecting his jacket and following the waiting nurse out, ruffling Ricardo's hair on his way by.

Once they're out of Ricardo's sight, he turns to the nurse, face tight with worry and pain. "How is he, really? He seems so... fragile...?" He'd seen him battered and sore many times, nearly broken too many, but this... emotionally shattered, like one wrong word or touch could break him completely...

She smiles comfortingly at him, patting his arm. "It's been a rough couple of days for him. The therapists have been working regularly with him, to stop the influence that those three men had on him." She sighs slightly, leading him out to the main hallway as she talks. "Their brainwashing techniques were extremely effective, basically unlike any we've ever seen in the past, and hard to break. But progress is being made, it's just going to take time. We have the best staff here, however, and we'll take good care of him. Try not to worry too much, Mr. Del Rio."

He nods at her, lips still held in a grim line as he considers her words. "I have responsibilities with WWE, and I won't be by as often as I'd like, but when I am able... I would like to see him longer, if that won't... hinder his recovery." He knows he sounds thisclose to begging, but for once he doesn't care: He hasn't spent a good amount of time with his best friend in weeks and he _misses_ him more than he ever would have thought possible in the past.

"Of course," she smiles. "Visits from family and friends help the patients, gives them something to focus on during their recovery. We'll see you soon then?"

Alberto nods grimly. "Si, you will." He glances back towards the door his ring announcer is behind and shakes his head somberly, turning to the exit. He pauses at the barrier and turns once more to look at her. "Take good care of him, por favor."

"We will, I promise, sir," she smiles at him. "If there are any problems, we'll call you."

He sighs in painful contemplation of once more having to leave this place, leave his best friend behind to continue traveling, competing, and doing media events alone. He's determined to keep his promise to Ricardo, but every time he thinks about The Shield, his blood boils and all he wants to do is go after the three men and teach them a lesson for all of this, but he can't forget the look in the younger man's eye. "I will keep my promise, amigo," he vows again before walking hesitantly towards his car, hands stuffed grimly in his pockets. "Somehow..."

And he does, scraping together his determination and strength every time he goes to Raw or Smackdown, ignoring the screen every time SIERRA HOTEL INDIA ECHO LIMA DELTA echoes through the arena, as week by week passes. Free days that WWE aren't touring are spent either traveling to visit Ricardo or briefly returning to Florida so Sofia doesn't think he'd forgotten his home. The house just doesn't feel the same with Ricardo states away, and he can tell the staff feels it as well. The housekeeper in particular looks worried and pale every time he sees her, which makes him feel worse for staying gone for so long, but Ricardo needs him more, and there's only so much he can do. His only comfort is, bit by bit, the ring announcer appears stronger, less emotional each time he sees him.

Finally, after almost two months, the nurse that greets him has a smile on her face and she doesn't take him immediately to the younger man. "Mr. Del Rio, the psychiatrist would like to speak to you for a moment before you to see Mr. Rodriguez." He nods vacantly, wondering if the look on her face means what he thinks it does, but he can't find the words to ask, following her quietly through the hallways back towards the therapist's office. He'd met the man before he'd even placed Ricardo in here, researching him as thoroughly as he could and finding himself pleased with what most had to say of his hands on approach to recovery following issues similar to Ricardo's.

He knocks quietly on the office door, inching it open as the man beckons him inside. He enters slowly and shakes hands with the well-known doctor, taking the seat pointed out to him. "Did something happen? Ricardo is alright, yes, Dr. Sullivan?" he asks slowly, almost fearing the answer despite the cheerfulness he's sensing from both nurse and therapist.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Del Rio, I apologize, I didn't mean to cause you any distress. He's better than alright, actually. I've discussed it over with his physician and we agree- he'll be ready to be released within the next couple of days." The middle aged man smiles as Alberto stares at him, hope filling his eyes. "As you told us, he had been fighting the brainwashing from the start, all he really needed was a little assistance in completely vanquishing it from his mind." He sighs. "It wasn't an easy road, I've never seen a case quite so intense as this before, but he was determined to defeat it, and he did. He has been having night terrors involving it from time to time, but there is marked improvement on that as well. My best suggestion is find a therapist near where you live, it'll help him from getting overwhelmed or relapsing from here on out. I can recommend a few if you would like?"

"Si, please," Alberto nods, overwhelmed by both happiness and everything that will need to be done to keep Ricardo on the right track, beyond The Shield's reach, emotionally or physically. He knows the first step will be to bring him home, where Sofia can nurse him back to health the rest of the way, and Alberto can protect him completely. Once the list of recommendations is in his palm, he stands and shakes hands with Dr. Sullivan, smiling half-heartedly at him before leaving the room to go visit his best friend finally. He takes a minute, as he always has every visit in the past, to watch his friend from the door before entering, finding him idly shuffling the deck of cards that he almost always has with him whenever Del Rio comes by. He smiles and walks in, joining his friend and resting a hand on top of his head, relief growing when Ricardo doesn't twitch away or react defensively, merely looking up at his employer, eyes brightening. "Hola, Ricardo."

"Hola, El Patron," he says quietly, smiling slightly. Cards all but forgotten, he drops them onto the table before reaching out to his employer, Alberto grinning as he squeezes his hands and chaffs them carefully between his own palms. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, mi amigo, much better now, actually. How are you feeling?" He examines the younger man closely, taking in how he looks more _himself,_ his eyes bright and clear, skin a healthy shade instead of the pale facsimile it'd been when he'd first brought him here. He even looks well-rested, his long standing issues with insomnia apparently not bothering him recently, to Del Rio's utter relief, it being one of his many worries when he'd left Ricardo here, that he'd not be able to sleep and wouldn't even have familiar people around him to comfort him or keep him company during the long nighttime hours. Although he'd seen him at least once a week, depending on how crazy his travel schedule was, he can't help but feel like this is the first time he's laid eyes on him in a very long time.

"I- I'm ok, El Patron," he says lowly, watching as Alberto continues to rub his hands. "You seem happy."

"Si, of course I am, mi amigo. Do you know what Dr. Sullivan has just told me?" Ricardo shakes his head warily, staring up at his employer with uncertainty, and Alberto's smile softens. "That you will be released in a day or two! I will get to bring you home to Florida finally, mi amigo."

The change is immediate, a flood of emotions crossing the younger man's face: hope, happiness, and a fair amount of fear too. Alberto's smile turns a little more sad as he pats his jaw, understanding. "Is... Am I... Are they sure it's going to be ok?" he asks breathlessly, eyes locked on his employer's face. "I mean, what if... I can't stop myself and..." He shakes his head, tears beginning to drip down his cheeks despite his best attempt to remain strong in front of his best friend. "I still hear them," he admits lowly. "In my sleep. If I... get released, and I do something... hurt you again..." He sniffs. "I'll never forgive myself."

Alberto's eyes soften as he shakes his head, wiping at the ring announcer's tears briskly. "No, no, mi amigo, listen to me. They wouldn't release you too early, I swear to you. I believe them when they tell me you're ready." He grips his friend's hands and smiles sadly. "Ricardo, how do you feel right now? Different than you did when I brought you here?"

"Different...? I, I guess, some... They've helped me, I know," the younger man says uncertainly. "But how can I trust myself when... I..." He grazes Alberto's face with his hand, where the bruises had been on his jaw, and Del Rio's heart sinks as he realizes that his best friend still remembers, will probably never forget what his hands had caused.

He grips his hand, squeezing it between both of his, and shakes his head. "No, no, mi amigo. _I _trust you, I can tell by looking at you that you are so much better. If you can't trust yourself, then trust me. I swear to you, everything will be fine. If I felt this was a wrong move, I'd convince them that you weren't ready. But here, now, it's so obvious to me that you are. Alright?"

He sniffs, nods. "Alright, si, El Patron. I'll trust your judgment."

Alberto smiles and pats his jaw, standing. "Get some rest, mi amigo. I will be back tomorrow, we will confirm the details of your release." When Ricardo nods, his exhaustion visible, Del Rio leans over and hugs him. "Buenas noches, mi amigo."

Ricardo sighs, hugging him back gingerly. "Buenas noches..."

When Del Rio returns, Ricardo's bag is packed and he's finishing up his last therapy session, the doctor he'd been talking with for the last couple of months smiling at him as they stand, holding a hand out to him. "Ricardo, you have made significant progress the past few weeks here. I have no doubt you'll be fine in Florida, but if you need anything, here's my card. Call any time."

"Thank you," he breathes, overwhelmed by everything. "For everything... I, I will." They shake hands and Dr. Sullivan leads him out of the room, Ricardo's eyes brightening when he spots his employer with his bag, waiting for him with a smile of his own. "El Patron," he greets him with a shaky smile. "Hola. It's- it's good to see you."

Alberto grins and wraps an arm around him, drawing him closer into a light hug. "Good to see you too, mi amigo. How are you feeling? Ready to get out of here?"

"Si, I believe so," he nods, glancing around at the building that had been his home for around two months now. "If you're still sure..."

"Of course I'm sure!" he says, smiling down at the younger man as he pulls away and squeezes his arms. "I want you home, mi amigo. I want you to finish recovering where you're most comfortable at." He blinks and pulls back a bit, not wanting to push the younger man into something he might not be ready for. "That is still what you want, si?"

"Si, of course," Ricardo breathes. "I just... It's been so long," he tries to explain. "I don't want to make things worse..."

"You won't," Alberto promises. "Come, the flight is soon." He remains patient, holding his hands out to the young man and grinning when Ricardo takes hold, their fingers lacing together as Del Rio squeezes them briefly before leading him towards the exit, where his car is waiting. "Everything will be fine, mi amigo, I promise you." They take their time, Alberto allowing his friend a chance to grow accustomed once more to the outside world without nurses and other hospital staff surrounding him.

The bustle of the airport seems to make Ricardo's anxiety worse, his eyes darting back and forth as if looking for the three men who had started this mess, but Alberto grips his shoulders, expression reassuring and calm. "It's ok, mi amigo. They can't harm you anymore. I won't allow it."

The ring announcer nods jerkily, staring up at him. "Lo siento, I... there's so many people. It... I..." He swallows, frowning desperately.

"We'll be on the plane soon," he responds, wrapping an arm around Ricardo until they have to join the line for TSA to check them and their carry-ons. "Just hang in there a little bit longer, mi amigo." He smiles and allows the ring announcer to go ahead of him in line so he'll be finished sooner, complying with the directions as quickly as possible so he can join him. "See, no problems." Ricardo nods, lips twitching, following his employer the rest of the way to where their gate is.

The flight thankfully goes as fine as can be expected, Ricardo only seeming tense when the plane is lifting for take off, Alberto keeping a comforting hold on his wrist until they're up in the sky safely. When he looks over ten minutes later, the ring announcer has dozed off, eased by the anxiety medicine prescribed to him for situations such as these and Alberto's presence. He smiles and releases him with a soft pat, not wanting to disrupt his rest, and takes to staring out of the window, ear tuned to any change in his friend's breathing. Only a couple of hours later, they start to land and Alberto waits until they're taxiing to lean over and brush a hand over Ricardo's forehead, through his hair. "Amigo," he breathes. "We're back in Florida now. It's time to wake up."

He stirs and groans, shifting under Alberto's fingers. "El Patron?"

"Yes, amigo. We're almost home. Can you stand?" the Mexican aristocrat asks his sleepy best friend, smiling faintly as a flight attendant stops by them, shaking his head when she asks if they need any help. "Come, come." It's with gentle hands that he lifts the ring announcer under the arms and supports him as he yawns, blinking sleepily against his employer's shoulder. "There you go," he says, guiding him carefully down the aisle to the exit of the plane. "Slowly," he whispers, keeping ahold of his arm as he walks down the stairs to the airport to collect their things so they can leave. Once they find the car and Alberto makes sure he's safely inside, he gets into the driver's side and grins over at him. "Amigo, Sofia will be so happy to see you."

"I'll be glad to see her as well," he admits softly, staring at the Florida surroundings as they drive towards Del Rio's home. "I've missed all of this so much..."

"I can imagine," Alberto murmurs. Finally pulling up to the home a few minutes later, he turns and watches with a sad smile as his best friend takes in the large house for the first time in months, eyes filled with bittersweet tears. "Hey, amigo. Ready to go inside?"

"Si," he nods, scrubbing an arm over his face, wiping the wetness away almost roughly, not wanting to worry Sofia from moment one. They've barely gotten out of the car when the front door opens, the housekeeper walking quickly towards them, her arms outstretched towards the ring announcer. He takes one look at her and, face crumbling anew, meets her halfway, clinging to her like a lifeline. "Sofia," he cries quietly, the woman's hand stroking through his hair soothingly. "I've missed you."

She smiles, making soft tsking sounds at his tears. "I've missed you too, senor. Let me look at you," she says softly, pulling away from him after a few moments and cupping his face, staring into his red-rimmed eyes. "Did the hospital treat you well?" As she examines him, he nods against her palms. "Good, good, senor. But you still look tired and like you could use a good meal. Come, I will take care of that."

Alberto smiles sadly as she fusses over the younger man, leading him into the home as he directs the driver where their things should go. Once that's done, he follows them inside and finds Ricardo sitting at the table, watching her bustle back and forth at hyperspeed. He pats him on the shoulder, sitting next to him while they wait for the various plates and dishes to finish arriving, Sofia pausing to examine the table with a critical eye. "It looks bueno, Sofia," Del Rio finally says, wanting her to slow down a bit as it seems to be adding a bit to Ricardo's anxiety.

She glances over at the younger man, obviously realizing the same thing as she sets one final plate on the table and rests a hand on his forehead, smiling sympathetically at him until he relaxes a little. "What do you think, senor?" she asks softly, eyes shining with compassion as he swallows and looks from her to the table.

"It looks great, Sofia," he manages to force out after a moment, smiling shakily as she examines him closely. "Lo siento, it's just an adjustment after- after the hospital."

She winces and shakes her head, hugging him tightly. "No, no, senor. No apologizing. I understand. You're going to be fine," she whispers against his hair, looking up as Del Rio shifts and joins them, sandwiching the ring announcer between him and the housekeeper's reassuring hug. "Take all the time you need, we'll be here for you."

"Gracias," he breathes, feeling truly comforted and warm for the first time since The Shield had taken him from the arena months back. "Muchas gracias..."

The therapist recommended by the hospital is proactive, scheduling an appointment early the next day, wanting to make sure that Ricardo is settling in well to the familiar settings, not floundering without constant monitoring or care. Alberto sits in the waiting room, growing anxious the longer the appointment takes. In reality, it's been less than an hour, but feels like a lifetime to him as he stares down at his hands, a TV droning softly in the corner somehow only adding to his anxiety.

Finally the door opens and Ricardo walks out, eyes anxiously going left to right before stopping on Del Rio. He relaxes as his employer stands and joins them, squeezing his shoulders while examining him. Finding him looking relatively ok, he releases a breath. "Mi amigo, how did it go?" His gaze shifts from the ring announcer to therapist, wanting his best friend's opinion, but _needing_ the doctor's clarification that ultimately, Ricardo will be ok, will adjust fine upon returning to this life.

"Well," he says quietly, glancing over at the therapist who nods with a small smile, causing the ring announcer to relax, and by proxy Del Rio as well. "May we go home now?"

"In a moment, mi amigo," Alberto tells him, guiding him over to the seats. "Sit, I'll be right over there, si?" As Ricardo sits down with a faint sigh, nodding, Del Rio pats his back and approaches the therapist. "What can you tell me? Is he doing... alright, honestly?"

The woman looks from her patient to his employer and takes a breath. "He's doing quite well, considering." She shuffles his file around a bit before looking up at Del Rio. "It will take some time for him to be completely secure, especially now that he's out on his own recognizance, but I have no doubt that he'll be fine. He just needs patience and to continue these appointments."

Alberto releases a breath. "Gracias, doctor. When you and he both agree that he's ready... to return to WWE, you'll let me know, si?" He itches to get revenge on The Shield, but the promise made to Ricardo sticks with him, won't let him make the move he's so desperate to attempt.

"Of course," she promises, smiling at him. "I understand that your travel schedule will keep you from being present at all of his appointments. Does he have others to support him during this time?"

"Si, my housekeeper, Sofia Cortez, will be with him... or if he needs anything else, my brother lives nearby. He won't be alone." When she nods, taking note of this in a small pad that seems to be fused to her hand, he relaxes a little. "May we go now? Unless you feel I need to know anything else?"

"No, you may go." She smiles as she leads him back to the waiting ring announcer. "I think some relaxation is in order anyway." As she shakes a standing Ricardo's hand, Alberto sees what she means- he looks exhausted, as if whatever they'd discussed in the session had worn him out all over again.

The drive home is quiet, Ricardo slumping into his seat like just holding himself together for public had taken everything out of him, and Alberto stares at him worriedly at every red light and stop sign. As soon as he stops in front of his house, he leans over and claps Ricardo's hand lightly. "We're home, mi amigo," he tells him, drawing him out of wherever he'd gone. "Come. You can take a nap before supper."

Ricardo nods blankly, following him inside. Sofia is waiting but she catches Del Rio's subtle headshake before she can even speak, standing back as he leads the younger man to his room. "Gracias, El Patron," he mumbles, sinking into the soft sheets with a troubled sigh.

"No need to thank me," he whispers, adjusting the sheets around him. "Rest well, mi amigo. I'll come get you when it's time to eat." He watches quietly as the ring announcer nods, shifting around in bed until he seems more comfortable, lazily hugging a pillow as sleep claims him.

"Is he alright?" Sofia asks when her employer returns to the kitchen, leaning against the counter to watch her bustling around. "He looked exhausted..."

"I think so," Alberto tells her with a light grimace. "The therapy session seemed to wear him out. But the doctor didn't seem concerned, just says it will take time."

"Of course," she murmurs, checking on a pan full of potatoes. "I hope he'll feel like eating tonight. If not, I can make a plate for him..." She adjusts the temperature and looks up to find her employer staring at her with a wistful smile. "What is it, senor?"

"The doctor mentioned that it's noted I won't be able to be present for all of Ricardo's appointments. It just makes me think... whatever would we do without you, Sofia?" As she flushes and fumbles with the temperature gauges, he sits at the kitchen table. "I depend on Ricardo more than anyone, si, and the last few months have been horrible... but you have been there, supporting us both however we need you to... and I believe I get so focused on my career or, yes, Ricardo himself, with all of the perros in the WWE constantly targeting him, that I forget how much of our continued success is because of you as well." He stares at her. "If you ever need anything, por favor, come to me. You and Ricardo are two of the most important people in my life, even if I fail at knowing how to show it most times."

She smiles, shaking her head. "Yes, well, you are as well for us, if I may speak for Senor Rodriguez. It is fulfilling, being able to ease your life even a little, Senor, especially considering how maddening your schedule is at times."

He grins at her, resting his hands on the surface of the table. "Gracias." He stares at his hands for a long moment before looking back up at her. "Do you think... I am doing enough for him? Am I missing something...? Some way to help him, beyond therapy?"

Sofia leaves the potatoes alone, joining her employer by the table. "I think you are doing everything humanly possible for him, senor. As the therapist said, it will just take time and patience. At least we have Ricardo back to this extent, si? He's home and he's growing better, stronger, daily, I can tell just by looking at him." She rubs a hand up and down his back, giving him a minute to ponder her words. "Keep doing what you have been, and he'll be just fine. I am sure of it."

Del Rio smiles at her, unable to do anything _but_ believe in her words.

Time passes, weeks into months, and finally the therapist agrees that it would be fine for Ricardo to return to work at WWE on a limited schedule. He starts off with Raw and Smackdown, a Main Event here and there, announcing Alberto out each time, visibly overjoyed to be back at work once more.

It helps that The Shield is rarely seen, finding their own way into the building and keeping to themselves in dark, abandoned places every other time. Ricarrdo is still understandably jittery and tense, but Alberto doesn't let him out of his sight anymore and, bolstered by this, he slowly begins to relax. Alberto is minorly distracted from all thoughts of The Shield when Big Show begins to target Ricardo, the much larger World Champion seeming to take glee in bullying the ring announcer, but even as he tries to defend his friend against yet another threat, his opponents seeming to realize thanks to The Shield that the best way to knock him off of his game would be to harass or harm the younger man.

Even so, it doesn't kill his determination to eventually make The Shield pay. And his opportunity comes, ironically enough, when he gets vengeance on Big Show at his hotel room, leaving him unconscious in the hallway. He receives a suspension from Smackdown for his troubles but that's fine, gives him time to figure out the last few pieces of his plan. He wanders the hotel room, deep in thought, paying little mind to anything else until he realizes. Over two hours had passed and he hadn't heard anything from Ricardo, the ring announcer sitting on the edge of one of the beds, watching him with an anxious, sad look on his face. He stops abruptly and walks over to his best friend, frowning when he shies away. "Mi amigo? Are you... what's wrong?" he asks, freezing in place to keep from freaking him out any further.

Ricardo gulps and looks away. "Lo siento, it's my fault you were suspended. If I had been able to-"

Alberto, blinking in horror at what his friend had been thinking about the last couple of hours, quickly sits down next to him. "No, no, Ricardo. I'm not angry about that, nor do I blame you! It was my actions that led to that, mi amigo." He smiles, wrapping an arm around the ring announcer. "Besides, it's giving me the chance to do something I've been delaying for much too long as it is."

Ricardo glances up uncertainly. "Si? Such as what, El Patron?" Alberto smirks and whispers his plan to him, unconcerned as the ring announcer's eyes widen. "Are you sure, El Patron?"

"Si, Ricardo," he says confidentially. "I've waited much too long as it is. They will pay."

"It's not necessary. You have so many other things to worry about-"

"And you, mi amigo, are at the top of that list," Alberto tells him with a soft smile. "They won't get away with this for much longer, I swear to you."

Ricardo closes his eyes, knowing that there's no arguing with his employer when he sounds like that. "Just... don't get hurt on my account, por favor."

"I won't," Alberto promises, patting his face. "Everything will be fine."

The basement under the arena booked for Smackdown is dark, darn and far beyond disgusting, Del Rio frowning into the gloom as he considers the general reaction should anyone ever know that the Mexican aristocrat had willingly gone down here to handle his business, only just avoiding security who'd been told to keep him away tonight to get here.

He's still standing there when the door behind him opens and he turns to stare at the two men joining him. "What's crackin', fella?"

Del Rio closes his eyes, trying to keep control of his temper as two of the many men he can't stand enters the area. "Sheamus," he says darkly. "Miz." He'd ultimately chose them because they'd also had issues with The Shield recently, and had been some help against Big Show weeks ago, proving they could set aside shared animosity when it came to common enemies.

Mike glances around before facing Del Rio. "Where are they at then?" he asks, determined to see this through as quickly as possible.

Del Rio sneers and motions, beginning to walk down one of the darkened halls, the three men all but holding their breath as they peer into a faintly lit room, the soft mutters of Seth Rollins and Dean Ambrose audible as Roman Reigns lurks around, observing everything around them. The camera they'd hijacked ages ago lays abandoned on its side, waiting for their next message to the Superstars to be broadcast into the arena.

They watch them for a moment before Alberto motions and the three of them quietly lift the weapons that Alberto had left scattered around the shadowy corners while scoping things out earlier in the day. He lifts his arm, waiting for Reigns to turn his back to the entrance and that's it, as soon as it happens he lowers his arm in a rough arc before storming into the room and blasting Dean with a solid punch, feeling the brash knuckles that had accompanied him months ago in rescuing Ricardo crack against his jaw satisfactorily.

He notes out of the corner of his eye as Sheamus lunges after Roman with a kendo stick, targeting his arms, face and any part of him not protected by his vest. On the other side, Seth screams out in annoyance as Miz blasts him with a steel chair repeatedly until he drops to his knees, gripping his midsection painfully.

Del Rio then takes the next opportunity to tear off Dean's vest, leaving him all the more vulnerable to the litany of knuck shots that Alberto now rains upon him, not even allowing him the time to try to protect himself. Growing bored of this finally, he grips Roman by the hair and stares him in the eye, so angry that he can barely breathe. "That was for Ricardo Rodriguez," he says darkly. "And this is because I feel like it." He swings back with everything in him and lands a solid punch to the other man's jaw, watching with no lack of pleasure as he slumps to the ground bonelessly, barely even twitching.

Likewise, Miz is now done with Rollins and Sheamus with Reigns, their individual weapons dented or plainly broken. Alberto sneers as he stares down at the motionless men, feeling more satisfied than he had since before Ricardo had gone missing months ago.

The three of them say precious little as they walk side by side towards the exit, dropping the now useless weapons as they go, Alberto wanting nothing more than to sneak back out past security to leave the arena and return to his anxious best friend, so he can tell him that he has nothing more to worry about- whether it's Big Show or the Shield or anyone else, Alberto will gladly prove to them all over and over again that the ring announcer is off-limits. Or else...


End file.
